[Opening instrumental — Hardanger fiddle and gentle Nordic flute, instrumental only] Deep within a Norwegian forest, where mountains touched the clouds and waterfalls tumbled over moss-covered stones, lived an old troll named Grumble. Grumble was not a particularly cheerful troll. He complained about the rain, grumbled at the wind, and considered squirrels to be terribly noisy neighbors. But there was one thing Grumble loved more than anything in the world. Autumn leaves. Every year, when the trees turned gold, orange, and crimson, Grumble ventured into the forest with a little wooden basket. He collected the prettiest leaves he could find, carefully sorting them by color, size, and shape. The golden ones went on the highest shelf. The red ones were arranged in neat little rows. And the especially beautiful ones were placed inside a wooden chest lined with soft moss. "Perfect," he would mutter. "Absolutely perfect. Unlike that dreadful wind." [Instrumental interlude — Playful Hardanger fiddle] But one autumn morning, Grumble discovered something terrible. Three of his finest leaves were missing. He searched beneath his shelves, inside his basket, and behind a particularly suspicious mushroom. Nothing. The following morning, two more leaves disappeared. And the morning after that, he caught a tiny brown bird flying away with a magnificent golden maple leaf in its beak. "YOU!" Grumble shouted. The bird chirped cheerfully and disappeared into the trees. Grumble was furious. For several days, he tried to catch the little thief. He built tiny leaf traps, hid behind bushes, and even sat perfectly still beneath a tree. Unfortunately, the bird was clever. It always escaped. [Instrumental interlude — Light langeleik and wooden flute] One afternoon, Grumble finally followed the bird through the forest. It flew past the stream, over a mossy stone bridge, and toward an old hollow tree. There, tucked safely inside the tree, Grumble discovered something unexpected. A little nest. It was lined with the beautiful leaves he had been collecting. Golden leaves covered the bottom, soft red ones lined the sides, and tiny orange leaves made a warm blanket around three small baby birds. The little bird had not been stealing his leaves just for fun. It had been preparing a warm home for its family before winter arrived. Grumble stared at the nest. Then he looked at the bird. The bird looked back and gave a tiny, hopeful chirp. For a long moment, the old troll said nothing. "Well," he finally grumbled, "you could have asked." [Instrumental interlude — Gentle Hardanger fiddle, warm and tender] The next morning, the little bird returned to find something waiting outside the hollow tree. A small basket. Inside were the softest leaves Grumble could find, carefully gathered and arranged. The bird chirped with delight. From that day onward, Grumble continued collecting autumn leaves, but he always gathered a few extra for his tiny neighbor. The bird, in return, brought him little treasures from the forest: shiny stones, interesting feathers, and once, a rather impressive pinecone. Grumble pretended not to be pleased. He still complained about the wind. He still grumbled at the squirrels. And he still insisted that nobody understood the proper way to organize a leaf collection. But every autumn, when the forest turned golden, a tiny bird could be seen sitting beside a very large troll, sharing the afternoon sunshine. [Closing instrumental — Hardanger fiddle, soft Nordic flute, and gentle folk percussion] And if you ever wander through a Norwegian forest in autumn, listen carefully. You might hear a grumpy voice complaining about the wind. And nearby, a little bird singing happily. For even the grumpiest troll can discover that autumn is much better when there is someone to share it with.
